


Paint Me Anything

by Hypocorismm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Muses, POV Original Character, Stiles has a muse, Werelions, side Stiles/Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 12:10:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypocorismm/pseuds/Hypocorismm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a problem in Beacon Hills. Lydia Martin and Sheriff Stilinski have been kidnapped, and Stiles has a muse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint Me Anything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TyMichelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyMichelle/gifts), [CellophaneSoldier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CellophaneSoldier/gifts).



She watched him. Not in a creepy, obsession kind of way, no, in more of a fascinated, this is my job kind of way. She watched him because she was assigned to him, to him specifically and there was really nothing else interesting around. His friends were all oddly good looking, as if the town bred only the hottest of teenagers, but they were only around every so often, so she had taken to studying him. She was assigned to follow him everywhere, and guide his every movement, but god, was it boring sometimes. So, she watched, and she learned.

She memorized when he fell into a rut before the blocked aura even surfaced around him, and had quickly figured out that most ruts the boy could work himself out of. He was quick as a whip with a tongue as sharp, and he barely ever needed her, but there she was anyway. She learned how to soothe his nerves with gentle waves of concentration, and she grew to know when to let his ADHD run wild. She watched him solve puzzle after puzzle, work together missing pieces that everyone else missed. And she knew when to force him to take a break when he overworked himself, persuading him into thinking about food or baseball, or that fight he had with Scott he was trying to avoid thinking about. She watched, and she learned.

She’d been assigned after his best friend had been turned into a werewolf, and after the Jackson the Giant Lizard Rage Monster incident. She had read his file over and over, trying to piece together _why him_. She couldn’t quite fathom why. Why him? Why now? What kind of difference could this boy make that she needed to be here with him? If this truly was to be her punishment, then why him? Why Stiles Stilinski of all human beings?

And it wasn’t until Stiles buckled down to research on the bank vault with Scott that she knew, that she saw why him. He was brilliant, going through so much boring detailed paperwork and sifting through endless websites just to find the minutest of details. She watched in complete awe and she knew why, why Stiles Stilinski from tiny Beacon Hills who has a werewolf as a best friend and a single, overworked father. Because this boy, this seemingly insignificant human being was gorgeous in every single way that she could possibly imagine, and she could imagine a lot considering her age.   

He was a life saver, she noticed, reckless, trying to throw himself into the line of fire to save his friends. He did all he could and more, putting all he had into his research for them, sacrificing everything, his grades, his relationship with his father, and very nearly his sanity on some days. He was selfless, and there was something different about him, something different in his blood and in his genetic make up. She could feel it; an instinctual bone-deep ache that she knew would hurt later on.

Scott was over, sniffing casually at the air, his hypersensitive nose steering him towards her. Even when Stiles caught him, and forced him to sit and study maps and charts with him for their latest supernatural issue, Scott’s eyes flicked towards her. He couldn’t see her, no one but those she willed to see her could, but he could sense her presence. The pack had been sensing her more recently, taking an extra second to scent the air around Stiles, eyes darting around like they were afraid. There were moments where one of them snuffled the air millimeters from her face and she could hear her own heart skip a beat in anticipation. She’d been chased by werewolves before, hunted like a rabbit through the underbrush. It hadn’t been pretty, and it hadn’t been fun. If it hadn’t been for the alpha’s daydreams, thoughts of a certain beta he found enticing, the hunt would’ve ended in her death.

“This is getting us nowhere!” Stiles growled, chucking the packet of print offs across the room in frustration much later that night, the digital alarm clock reading close to 3 in the morning. “We’re no closer to finding out who killed that hiker, and we’re no closer to finding Lydia!”

“Stiles,” Scott started to say, when the window slid open and Derek Hale appeared. She’d also begun to notice that Derek walked into a room, or appeared in a room as most cases would suggest, like he owned it and everyone inside.

“You’re going to have to speed up the process,” Derek growled, looming beside the window with his arms crossed over his massive chest. Was it just her imagination or had Hale gotten buffer since the last time she saw him? Hadn’t she just seen him two days ago, when Derek called an emergency pack meeting and Stiles had invited himself along? Was it possible for a being to bulk up that much more, superhuman or not, in that short amount of time?

“What?! Why?”

You could hear the interrobang in Stiles’ voice as he and Scott sat up straight, backs rigid in the presence of their Alpha. Neither were ever really into the pack dynamics, falling into line behind the Alpha without question and following through with his orders like good soldiers, but Derek wouldn’t be in Stiles’ bedroom at 3 in the morning urging them to hurry unless he needed to be there doing just that. Something was wrong, and even she could feel it.

“They’ve taken someone else,” Derek answered.

“Who?” Scott asked, voice stiff. He seemed to already know, the fear of confirmation rolling off him in thick waves. Derek didn’t respond, staring at anything that wasn’t Stiles.

“Derek, who was it? Who did they take?”

Oh, Stiles, she thought, watching her charge as it dawned on him why Derek wasn’t answering, why he wasn’t even looking at him.

“Please, Derek,” he whispered.

“They took the Sheriff, Stiles,” Derek answered. “They took your dad.” 

Stiles launched into full on research mode, digging himself into the work as a distraction. He didn’t want to hear the story of how his father had been taken by a gang of supersized teenage boys with cat eyes and fangs, and yet he made Derek tell him every gruesome detail. Derek and Scott tried to help, but Stiles was determined and Scott eventually pulled his Alpha away from Stiles’ side.

Hours passed with Scott and Derek flipping absently through volumes of books of mythical creatures, and Stiles clicking away on his laptop. She could feel it, his agitation at the massive nothing he was finding. It was rolling off of him, filling the room and suffocating her. Nothing she did could steer him off this self-destructive path, no aura or wave of power helped. She stared helplessly.

“Stiles,” she murmured, knowing her words wouldn’t be heard. She was invisible, intangible, virtually not there at all. Derek’s head jerked up, as if he did hear, as if he knew she was there. Maybe that came with the Alpha wolf status, or maybe it was because Derek was a born wolf, honing his skills since birth. She didn’t care if he found out, if he knew where she was, if he told Stiles that there was something hanging around him. She didn’t care because Stiles was hurting and he wasn’t letting her do her job, he wasn’t letting her help him.

“I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. Why kill the hiker? Why not kill Lydia? And why my father? This makes no sense!” Stiles snarled in frustration, slamming his open palm against the wood of his desk.

I can’t watch this, she thought. I can’t let him do this to himself.

“There’s something we’re missing! It’s staring us right in the fucking face, and I can’t see it.”

Her hands ached to reach out, to touch him and to comfort him. She waited, pushing her power towards him. She hovered towards him, and floated gently above his desk, crossing her legs in her dress.

“Please, Stiles. Listen to me,” she said, trying to force the calm around him.

“Is there someone here?” Scott asked, looking around. Stiles didn’t answer, just kept clicking and scrolling, reading and rereading passages about mythical creatures that matched Derek’s description.

“Come on, there has to be something! All I’m getting is werewolf, over and over. It’s not a fucking werewolf.”

He turned to face Derek and Scott, who looked away from where they were staring at one another.

“It’s not a werewolf, right?”

“Didn’t smell right, not wolf,” Derek agreed.

“So what the hell do they want? What are we missing?!”

She reached out, ready to just brush the back of his neck when Scott whined, a needy, possessive whine from deep in his throat.

“Calm down, pup,” she said uneasily.

“Maybe you should take a break, Stiles. It’s nearly morning, and we haven’t slept yet. We’ll start again in the morning, refreshed and ready to go. We’re no good like this. C’mon, bro.”

“It’s my- It’s my dad, Scott! He’s all I’ve got.”

“You’ve still got me,” Scott said, parroting Stiles’ words from earlier that year. Stiles paused to smile fondly at his best friend before he turned to his computer.

“And I need to make sure you’re not all I have, okay? Seriously, what are we missing? Why are they here? Why Beacon Hills? Why would they go after and maul that hiker but just kidnap Lydia and my dad?”

“Maybe they just wanted to get our attention,” Scott shrugged.

“Attention,” Stiles grumbled. She could see it, the idea dancing behind his eyes, sitting at the tip of his tongue like a word that he couldn’t catch.

“Come on, Stiles. Connect it.”

“I got nothing,” he admitted defeat, sinking low in his chair. She’d never seen him quite so low in the months that they’d been together, and it hurt almost physically to hear him sound so dejected.

 _Do Not Engage Physically_ , his file had said in big, bolded, capitalized letters, but no matter what his file said or how much trouble she was going to get in, instinctively she reached out and planted her hands on his shoulders, allowing every ounce of inspiration to flow between them like an electric current.

“Holy shit, how could I be so stupid? It’s staring us in the face! They were trying to get our attention! They want us to go looking for them! Lydia, my dad, they’re bait!”

“Good job, Stiles,” she breathed out. He whipped his head up and stared at her.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Stiles, who the hell are you talking to?” Scott asked, looking directly at his best friend.

“You don’t, you don’t see her?”

“See who? There’s no one there. It’s just you, me, and Derek here.”

“To be fair, you shouldn’t even be able to see me, but hey, it’s just my luck,” she said, drawing Stiles’ attention back to her.

“Are you sure you can’t see her? Because she’s right there, literally right there, floating over the desk in this dress like diamonds.”

“Like it, huh? Kind of comes with being what I am, almost literally,” she smirked, staying cross-legged over the desk where Stiles was just blankly staring at her. He seemed to be memorizing her, taking in every detail he could before she vanished.

“Which is?” he asked slowly.

“Oh, nothing important. So, that detail that was staring you in the face. Any clearer?”

“They’re baiting us,” Stiles answered.

“Why take Lydia, though? Why your father? Neither of them would be particularly easy to take, not Lydia with her screaming, and certainly not your father. Why them? You know the answer. Who are they baiting, specifically?”

Stiles took a moment, mulling it over.

“I don’t know.”

“Stiles, you’re freaking us out,” Scott said, breaking the concentration of waves she was sending towards Stiles. She glared at Scott as Stiles looked towards his best friend.

“How come only I can see you?” Stiles asked, looking away from Scott towards her. “Who are you?”

“Can we stop focusing on me? There’s a problem more important!”

“I’m not gonna focus, until you tell me who you are,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. She groaned. Stiles Stilinski was curious, she’d known that from the beginning but it had taken her a few weeks to catch on to why this was supposed to be a punishment. Stiles was stubborn and hardheaded, not moving an inch when he decided. It made her projections almost useless.

“My name is Keighley,” she started, flipping dark hair over her shoulder. “I was created out of light and air on the first dawn of the new lunar cycle hundreds of thousands of years ago, and I have been assigned to you to guide you and inspire you.”

“Guide and inspire,” Stiles repeated. “You’re a muse.”

“Stiles, I’m really scared,” Scott said, his gaze flicking between Stiles and the air that Keighley took up. “There is no one there. You need to go to sleep.”

“I’m not just suffering a psychotic break, right? You’re real? You’re here?” Stiles asked, ignoring Scott.

“I’m real. You can touch me, if you like,” she answered, holding out an arm. Stiles reached before a snarl ripped through the air, echoing between the two wolves. “Jesus Christ, your guard dogs are protective!”

“You two need to go,” Stiles finally said, glaring at them.

“What?” Derek and Scott chorused, twin looks of betrayal and confusion staring back at Stiles.

“You’re right, Scott. We’re not gonna get anything done like this, and Keighley doesn’t need to be growled at. Go. I’ll call you later, if I find anything.”

“But.”

“No, you need to go. Shoo. Away with you.”

The wolves looked at each other before slipping out the window, Derek first and Scott a moment later with an unsure glance at his best friend. Stiles sighed and stood, moving to shut and lock the window behind them.

“Werewolves are exhausting,” he informed her.

“Werewolves don’t like me,” Keighley returned, standing and setting her feet gently on the floor. She didn’t often walk on the ground, like many of her kind she chose to float or simply apparate from one point to another. But she enjoyed the feeling of floor under her feet, the pressure and the coolness. “I smell like prey.”

“Scott would never hunt you like prey.”

“And the Alpha?”

“I’m not sure on that front. He has his days,” Stiles said with a shrug. “Do you eat?”

“I _can_ eat. I just don’t have the necessity to.”

“Good, I get the best ideas when my hands are busy. Let’s go see what we have.”

She followed behind him, walking softly on the house’s old wooden floors. If she concentrated on it, she could feel the hours of labor that had gone into building this house; feel the inspiration behind each room’s design. When she was a new fledgling, she could feel each moment’s design as easy as breathing, and it was overwhelming. As the eons wore on, she’d learned to dull that feeling, focus more on her charges than their surroundings. It made her a good muse, but a shitty spirit.

“So, you’re a muse,” Stiles said once they reached the kitchen. Keighley floated into a chair, hovering easily a few inches from the seat with her legs crossed. “What’s that like?”

“I don’t know, what’s being human like?”

“Fair point. That was a pretty speech you gave about being forged in the new dawn of something,” he said, shuffling through his pantry’s contents.

“That was a bit dramatic, I’ll admit,” she answered. “It’s what we’re taught as fledglings, that we’re special because we were created out of light and air, to make us feel better about being beings that stalk humans and it’s just very dramatic. I apologize.”

“No need, you should see some of the dramatics the pack pulls, honestly. Derek once threatened me by deflating a basketball with his claws, so, your little speech was nothing. Do you want box mac and cheese, or… grilled peanut butter and jelly?” he asked. “And before you turn down the grilled PBJ, I remind you to keep an open mind because melty peanut butter and toasty bread is orgasmic.”

“I’ve never had either,” Keighley admitted with a shrug. “I don’t eat often, or ever. It’s a luxury, for celebrations upstairs. Which, I haven’t been invited to in a while, and won’t be for a couple of centuries at this rate.”

“Why’s that?”

“I pissed off the Creator, questioned his authority and went against his wishes. Which, I’m doing right now by revealing myself to you. Not that I did it on purpose. I kind of touched you, which was a big no-no in the first place, and became visible against my will. You shouldn’t see me, unless I want you to. And okay, this isn’t so bad, but I didn’t actually want you to see me originally. You’re different, I guess. Although, I should’ve put that together from your file.”

“I have a file?”

“Everyone has a file, even those without muses. Yours specifically stated not to touch, but I’ve always been bad at following the rules. Part of the reason why I’m here, with you, assigned to you. It’s punishment for, what were his words, for being a rebellious nuisance and never obeying command. Like I’m some soldier, or something. I’m a being of creativity and potential, and I’m not allowed to question him. Which is awful in and of itself.”

“Okay, rewind for a second. I have a file, that says you can’t touch me, and you read this file because you were assigned to me as punishment for being a little shit, a rebellious little shit at that.”

“Yes.”

“Well then, that’s something,” Stiles said, turning to gather his supplies; a loaf of bread, peanut butter, jelly, tub of butter, and a pan. Keighley kept quiet, watching him in fascination. Even then, after their many months together, she could watch him work in an appreciative awe. He was gawky, awkward, all elbows and knees in everything he did, but it worked for him. He had that kind of clumsy charm that many of her past charges had had, and she appreciated that in them. Especially the ones that were clumsy just because they were too excited to care where their limbs were in relation to, say, other limbs or objects.

Stiles Stilinski was one of those.

“My mom was the one who taught me this,” Stiles said suddenly.

“What? How to grill a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” Keighley asked as Stiles smushed the sandwiches together and proceeded to butter the outsides.

Stiles snorted, plopping the sandwiches into the hot skillet. “No, smart ass. How to keep my hands busy. She used to paint, before she got sick. She picked it up as a way to keep her hands busy when she was stressed during school, and when I was little, whenever I had a bad day, she would make me help her with dinner, or with cleaning, or whatever had to be done. One day, after Jackson had been particularly awful in the first grade, we even cleaned out the spare bedroom and had it ready to be painted before Dad even got home from work. That was a few weeks after I got tested for ADHD. Mom knew how to handle my attention problems the best, although the meds are useful. But anyway, she taught me that keeping my hands busy with something easy and menial left my mind free to solve the problem. I cooked a full three course dinner for the pack last year, but I suppose you knew that.”

“I didn’t, actually,” Keighley answered. “I haven’t been with you that long.”

“No? When’d you show up? Shouldn’t I have noticed?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t. Most people would, they’d be churning out more material or better material at least. You, however, Mr. Stilinski, are the most stubborn, hard-headed charge I have ever been assigned to. You have had three muses, in case you were wondering, before me. They’ve been covering you on and off since you were young, but none were able to make a difference. You are unreceptive to auras, or you were.”

“What happened? Am I more receptive?”

“Yes and no. I’ve been the most effective muse so far, and I think that might be because I’m one of the oldest, but even I have trouble sometimes. You block everything out when you get frustrated, don’t let any auras in but I can manage to coax you out of it, most of the time.”

“So when I suddenly start thinking about something unrelated, that’s you? Not my ADHD?”

“I simply bring things to the surface that are already there. Pull the subconscious to the conscious level. Like, when you get into a fight with Scott and ignore it, I can pull that to the front; make you deal with it first before you twist it into something it’s not. Most muses don’t. That’s why I’m in trouble. I meddle.”

“You’re not supposed to?”

“Nope,” she said, popping her P. “Cardinal rule of muses, no meddling. We must let mortal life play out as it is destined to.”

“Why do you do it, then?”

“You try doing nothing for millennia except for watching the everyday lives of human beings. You’re fascinating creatures as a whole, but individually, you’re just so dull. I get bored. I had to do something.”

“Am I boring?”

“Most of the time, I’ll level with you, you’re dull as fuck. However, you’re one of my more interesting charges. I mean, you run with wolves, and throw yourself headlong into danger without a second thought, and you’re always doing the exact opposite of what you should be doing. Also, you aren’t an easy charge to keep inspired. But, still, I’ve sat through so many of your classes that I might kill myself soon.”

“Can you die?”

“Yes. I’m hard to kill, because most people can’t hear me, or see me, or know I exist, but there are beings in the world that hunt us. I’ve been chased by so many species of weres because I smell good enough to eat.”

“Species of weres, like there are different kinds?”

“Of course, werewolves aren’t the only kind. Derek has said it himself, actually, not in so many words. The shape you take,” she started.

“Depends on the type of person you are, yeah. I know.”

“Well, there are many shapes. I personally have encountered wolves, foxes, sheep, and lions.”

“Lions?”

“Mhm, vicious form, especially without a pride to keep them in check. The ones I came across actually have a thing for hunting things like me. They like a challenge. They can smell me, intangible or not. Your wolves can too, but they’re not sure what they smell because they can’t see me, or whatever, and play it off as something blowing in with the wind. Lions, however, or at least the werelions I knew, are much more likely to rip your throat out. I’d be careful around them. I’ve seen one werelion take out a whole herd of weresheep for fun.”

“Weresheep,” Stiles muttered. “You’re fucking with me, right? There are weres that shift into sheep?”

“Yeah, they prefer to live alone, most of the time. The omegas of the were-world.”

“You’re fucking with me, I know it. You’re just fucking with me,” Stiles shook his head, sliding a freshly cooked sandwich onto each plate he’d grabbed at some point. He twisted the burner knob off and slid a plate over to Keighley and swung around the counter to sit beside her with his own. He waited patiently, watching her expectantly for her to take a bite. He wasn’t wrong, Keighley conceded, it was delicious. She didn’t know about orgasmic, because it was frowned upon- not against the rules, however, but severely frowned upon- for muses to have any kind of sexual relations with their charges, mortals, or other muses, but it was good.

“That is good, holy shit,” she said, hand hiding her mouth as she spoke. A grin spread across his face and he turned back to his own sandwich. He got about halfway through it before he froze.

“Holy shit, it was totally werelions! Derek said they had cat eyes, right? And they’re apparently supersized, which lions are compared to wolves, and holy shit. Holy shit. I need to call Scott. Or Derek. Both. Holy shit.”

He couldn’t seem to type fast enough, and as his phone rang, Keighley moved to wash up the dishes.

“Comeoncomeoncomeon, answer the phone, comeon,” he groaned. “Derek! Hey! It’s Stiles. Obviously. Listen, what do you know about werelions?”

He paused for a few moments while Derek spoke. Keighley could listen in, if she really wanted, but she didn’t. Derek and Stiles had this complicated give-and-take, play-fight, secret attraction kind of relationship going on, and she had to restrain herself from meddling in that. Stiles and Scott’s relationship, sure, that was concrete and was meddle-able, it wasn’t going anywhere. Stiles and Derek, however, were unstable and a bit of persuasion could go either way. She knew where to meddle, even if she wasn’t supposed to at all. Besides, she normally left romance for Cupids. No one watched friendships, like Scott and Stiles’, but _love_ , romantic love was the most sacred of all. She didn’t dare step foot there.

She could see into Stiles’ future, if she wanted, as well. She could see if he and Derek were endgame, but she preferred to be surprised. When you live forever, you don’t want the ending spoiled.

Besides, she had a rotten poker face, and didn’t want to change the future for Stiles if he ever asked her about it.

“Thanks, Derek,” Stiles said with the ghost of a smile on his face before he hung up.  “He’s getting the pack together and they’re going to try and find them by scent.”

“Have you figured out why they took Lydia and the Sheriff?” Keighley asked, although she could look and see that for herself too. Being as old as she was had its perks.

“Not yet. Tell me more about you.”

She told him about her. She described being a fledgling in training, standing with her brothers and sisters in rows upon rows, wings tucked awkwardly against their backs. She told him about sleeping in a pile with them the night before their first assignments, back when they looked after small things like fish and trees and furry woodland creatures. Keighley had been one of the only to look after humans, since there weren’t quite so many of them at the time. She recounted her first disastrous assignment, where she’d pushed her charges a bit too hard and they’d gone insane and tried to kill one another with branches and rocks.

“Can I ask a question?” Stiles asked, finishing off his own sandwich finally.

“Sure, go ahead.”

“What is with the outfit? It’s so bright, and glittery.”

She laughed.

“Oh, yes. The dress. I was actually born with it, I guess. It’s changed over the years, reflecting the style of the group I’m inspiring. I can choose what it looks like, but I like this style the best. I’ve kept it around for a couple of decades.”

Truthfully, it was one of the simplest designs she’d donned. It was just a shimmering evening dress, form fitting to her hips and flowing down her legs.

“Every muse is dressed in something similar,” she stated. “Well, dressed. It’s part of us, part of who we are. We’re essentially heavenly beings, like angels. It’s why we have wings, and whatnot. We can take them off, but seldom do, because we don’t have mortal needs.”

“Like food.”

“Like food. And because we’re not tangible for most of our lives, we don’t need to shower. In between assignments, many muses do find themselves bathing, just for the comfort. I do, at least. The thing about the outfit, the thing I like best, is that it is us. This dress, it’s as a part of me as my wings are, or my hair.”

She found herself looking in the mirror behind Stiles. She hadn’t actually seen herself in quite a few years, yanked from one assignment to another without a refractory period. Her hair was long, thick and full of snarls, falling to her waist like a curtain of dark auburn, cloaking her. She was slender, but full of curves that didn’t really do her any good, considering what she was. The dress she’d chosen for the past 50 or so years was just as bright as it was the day she was created, reflecting light that wasn’t even hitting it, making it hard to look at her. It was heavenly light, she knew that, and couldn’t be turned down or off, not without losing her grace. It was just nice to imagine she could. She had a baby face, cheeks chubby and eyes wide, giving her a false innocence. Her eyes were a dark but bright brown, searching from underneath unfortunate eyebrows, thick and dark like her hair. She scrunched up her face at herself and turned back to Stiles.

“You’re very strange,” Stiles commented. She chuckled.

“So I’ve been told.”

-&-

Derek came back the next morning, ragged, dirty, and empty-handed. Keighley had just coaxed Stiles into a couple hours sleep when the Alpha appeared in the window. He looked awkwardly between the window and Stiles’ sleeping form, torn between giving Stiles the bad news now and waiting to tell him later just to let him sleep.

The decision was made for him when Stiles startled out of sleep with a yelp, his dreams taking a nightmarish turn.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, taking a step toward him. Stiles looked up, bags noticeable now under his whiskey colored eyes, skin paler than usual.

“I just want my dad back,” Stiles admitted. “I’m sick of people taking him and using him against me.”

“Is that what they’re doing?” Derek asked, coming to kneel on the floor beside the bed. Keighley, who had willed herself invisible to Stiles while he was sleeping,  moved from over the bed to beside the bedroom door, ready to slip through the wood should this lead where she thought. She’d apparated into a room plenty of times in her years while her charge was in the middle of sex, which was bad enough. But Stiles knew she was there, which would be even worse.

“What else could it be? I mean, why would they take Lydia, the girl I’d been pining after sine the third grade and my father? It makes no sense unless you factor in the fact that they’re both connected to me, they both matter to me.”

“You’ve got a point,” Derek conceded.

“But why the hiker?”

“Maybe it was just to get our attention,” Derek said, his hand hovering over Stiles’ for a moment before he drew it away. “Or maybe he was just in the way.”

“There’s that. That’s true.”

Stiles shook his head and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“I don’t get it, though. Why me? What have I got that they would want? I’ve got nothing. I’m not a threat. I’m nothing. What could I possibly have tha- Of course! It’s her! They want her! Shit. Shit shit.”

“Stiles?” Derek asked.

“It’s Keighley! They want Keighley! They want me to trade Lydia and Dad for my goddamn muse! That’s, that’s so fucked up. God, that’s so fucked up.”

“Stiles, who is Keighley?”

“She’s, don’t freak out, but she’s my muse. And she’s here, I think. She was last night. That’s who I was talking to. She touched me, and I could see her, and she’s been here this entire time, but she’s gone. Oh, god. Where is she? They didn’t get her, did they? When I was asleep?”

Keighley focused on her form until she turned visible and Stiles saw her. He launched himself off the bed and threw her into a hug.

“I thought they’d, I thought they’d taken you. Don’t go invisible on me again.”

“Who is that?” Derek asked.

“Can he see you?”

“He might, yeah. I just focused on being visible, not on being visible just to you. I just wanted to calm you down, so yeah.”

Stiles let go and turned to face Derek.

“Okay, so, this is Keighley. She’s my muse. She, uhh, she’s,” he started, stumbling to explain Keighley.

“I know what a muse is, Stiles,” Derek said, saving the poor boy.

“Oh, thank god.”

“Mom used to tell us stories, but we thought they were just that. Laura always loved the idea of muses, angels, anything like that,” Derek explained.

“Laura Hale,” Keighley chuckled. “That girl was extraordinary, indeed. One of my favorite charges.”

“Laura was one of your charges?”

“The whole Hale pack was, actually, before the fire. When Laura became Alpha, the Creator took me away and put me, well, put me on the shelf for a bit, until he could figure out my punishment. That’s how I ended up here,” she said, gesturing to the room. “I’ll probably go back onto the shelf for this. I really hate the shelf.”

“The shelf?” Stiles asked, his eyebrows furrowing worriedly.

“It’s not an actual shelf. It’s this plane of existence where it’s just you, and you can’t get out of it without divine intervention. Time flies, though, so it isn’t so bad. I was in there up until I was assigned to you, so a good year or so, but it felt like minutes. Or maybe that’s just because I’m old as hell. I can never tell. Time is kind of wonky for me.”

“Not the point,” Derek said.

“Right, we need to figure out how to keep you safe, Keighley, and get Dad and Lydia back. Okay. Let’s do this.”

-&-

Stiles’ brilliant plan was to wander in the woods with Keighley at his side, intangible but visible, while Derek and the pack followed behind at a safe distance. Derek had hated the plan, and so had Keighley, but it was the only solution they could come up with. Isaac had reported a strange cat smell coming from a portion of the Preserve on his rounds just after breakfast, and so Stiles set off in the direction.

“You know, this is the shittiest plan I have ever helped inspire,” Keighley hissed at Stiles.

“Yeah, I know. But what else have we got?”

“I’m sure anything would’ve been preferable to waltzing, literally, into the lion’s den unarmed!”

“I’m all ears.”

Keighley glared but said nothing, knowing he was right.

“I don’t want you to go back on the shelf,” Stiles grumbled. “But I also don’t want you to die.”

“You know, I’m pretty hard to kill. It’s a perk of being a divine being. You, however, are a squishy human that is highly susceptible to being torn apart by sharp lion fangs.”

“I’ll be fine. Derek won’t let anything happen to me.”

Keighley sighed, knowing he was right. Derek, although not the cuddliest of werewolves, was protective of the human and she knew that. She knew he would do anything to save Stiles, because that was his form of affection, that and shoving Stiles into things.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Now, tell me more about Derek as a kid!”

“Oh, he was so sweet! He was Talia’s favorite son, even though she wouldn’t actually admit to that. She favored him so much, and he got away with so much.”

Keighley could hear Derek’s quiet grumbling but kept telling Stiles the stories, if only to keep their sanity as he lead them closer to their possible doom. Stiles seemed to enjoy the stories and adventures of baby Derek, and Keighley got to remember her favorite charges. The Hales kept her on her toes, and she’d learned so much about the supernatural world that she didn’t know before. She kept away from stories about Paige, or Peter, but everything else she figured was free reign.

Soon, they had reached the area Isaac had pointed to on the map, and Keighley started to lead, following auras towards a dark cave surrounded by thick forest.

“This isn’t ominous at all,” Stiles muttered.

“Be grateful the sun is up,” Keighley reminded him.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” a deep male voice purred from the mouth of the cave, his eyes catching the sunlight and glinting supernaturally. “A little boy and his muse coming to save the day, that’s adorable. Hello Keighley.”

Keighley sneered at him, recognizing him as he stepped into the light.

“Been a long time, sweet. We were wondering when we’d find you. The one prey that got away,” the brute of a man said. He looked like that guy who played Thor, but bigger and meaner and more unhygienic. Plus, he had that whole cat eye and fangs thing going for him that made Keighley nervous. Werelions were at the bottom of her list of things she wanted to come across in her list, just below the Black Death- she’d been through that once, not personally but still, not pretty- and a Nuclear Holocaust.

 “Where’s my Dad?” Stiles cut in.

“Oh, he’s inside,” the brute said, hooking a filthy claw over his shoulder towards the cave. Keighley could not for the life of her remember his name, which she supposed didn’t matter if he was going to try and kill her anyway.

“Okay, cool. I’m just gonna go get them, then. You just stay there like a good kitty,” Stiles said, taking a step towards the cave. The brute roared, causing Stiles to skitter backwards.

“You give us the girl, Mr. Stilinski, and you get your father and girlfriend back,” another voice said, this one more tame and diplomatic. This voice, Keighley remembered.

“Quentin,” Keighley growled. It wasn’t as impressive as a wolf’s, but she could hold her own.

“Ahh, Keighley. It’s so nice of you to come home,” Quentin cooed, stepping out beside the brute. He was slender like most werelions weren’t, but his eyes were still those of a cat, and he still grew a golden mane when he shifted. There wasn’t much of a hierarchy to lion prides, not like in wolf packs, but he was the Alpha in his pride. What he said was law, and the rest of the lions accepted that. He snapped his fingers and his pride created a circle around them, each one bigger than the one before, snarling and frothing at the mouth to eat. The pack would never make it through that circle, not in one piece. There were a handful of wolves versus the thirty plus pride of lions that looked like starved fighting dogs, ready to maim and kill whatever stood in their way.

“Home?” Stiles muttered.

“Quentin was one of my charges once, before he was bitten. The Creator took me away because Quentin turned into a homicidal jackass afterwards. He likes to think I belonged to him during that time, because he could feel my presence without any powers, thinks he’s special,” Keighley explained.

“Real charmer,” Stiles coughed.

“If I go with you,” Keighley started and held a hand out to stop Stiles from interrupting. She didn’t even have to feel his aura to know that was coming. “If I go with you, are you going to kill me, or keep me like a pet?”

“Oh, I intend on keeping you,” Quentin said with a slimy smile. “For a while.”

“And if I do go with you, Stiles and his pack will be safe? You won’t harm them?”

“Perfectly safe, never to be bothered.”

“What are you doing?” Stiles hissed.

“Rules dictate that in this situation, I should return to the Creator, and leave you to your fate, Stiles,” Keighley answered. “But when the Creator made me, he didn’t make me quite right. I am awful at following rules, and I have been punished more often than not for being a rebellious little shit. I am more loyal to my charges than any muse before me, and I care for them more deeply than I should. The Creator told me once that when he made me, he created an abomination, because I wasn’t fully muse. He told me that when he made me, he didn’t create a muse at all, but a guardian.”

“A guardian, what is that?”

“It’s an angel, destined to serve their charges and give themselves to save. He told me this would happen. He told me that I’d find myself in a situation where logic says I should leave but my wings simply won’t. I didn’t believe him. I mean, how could the Creator mess up? How could he mean to make a muse but create something else? But, there’s only one way this situation doesn’t end in blood and grief. And I suggest you get down.”

She barely gave him a moment before she was shoving him behind a tree and focused on every single werelion’s aura before unfolding her wings into existence. The light burst forth from them, blinding the immediate area while she created a sword from nothing.

“You fucked with the wrong muse this time, Quentin,” she snarled, swinging the sword in a circle, watched as the lions were cut down by an invisible extension of the blade. She left only Quentin alive, just for the sake of running him through properly. A rage thrummed in her veins, her desire to kill staggeringly strong. She marched toward Quentin, and tipped his chin up towards her. She folded her wings in just so he could see her.

“Men like you disgust me,” she cooed sweetly, pressing the tip of her blade against the torn material of his shirt.

“Keighley!” Stiles called, darting out from behind his tree. “Don’t.”

Keighley turned her head to look at the human.

“He’s not worth it.”

Rule one, Keighley discovered, is never turn your back on your opponent, even if your blade is at his chest.

Quentin surged forward and as her blade tore through his heart, his clawed hand tore through her stomach. She gasped, grabbing his shoulder.

“Creatures like you disgust me, so we’re even,” he gurgled out before falling to his knees against her. She stumbled away, Quentin’s arm sliding out of her gut with a wet slurp.

“Jesus Christ, oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. This is all my fault. Holy shit. I’m sorry, Keighley. I’m so sorry,” Stiles said as he caught her.

“I saved you,” she chuckled. He lowered them to the ground, pushing her hair from her face. “That’s what I was made for, Stiles. I was made to save Stiles Stilinski, even if that means I have to die.”

“No, no, you’re, no. You’re not gonna die.”

“I’ve seen so much, Stiles. It’s okay.”

“Shouldn’t you see, like, the end of the universe?”

“I could, but what’s the Creator gonna do with me after this? I’ll be on the shelf ‘til the end of the universe. I’d rather spend my last moments with you. You’re, you’re unique, Stilinski. You’re destined for great things. You and your pack, you will be the new Hale pack. And a muse will watch you and your children, and you can tell them all about the muse guardian who gave her life to save you.”

“Keighley, you can’t die.”

“Too late, kid.”

“C’mon, please.”

“Hey, maybe you can take up painting, now.”

“What?”

“Like your mom, you know? I bet you’d make a damn good painter. Promise me, you’ll paint.”

“I’ll, I’ll try.”

“That’s good. God, this hurts,” she whimpered. “I wasn’t equipped for this much pain. Really should’ve had that written in like, I don’t know, a manual for sacrificing yourself.”

“DEREK!” Stiles yelled, tears dripping from his eyes. Derek and the pack appeared from the forest, the Alpha coming to a stumbling halt at Stiles’ side. “Can you, can you take her pain? I know you can’t save her, but, god, she-”

Derek was already kneeling, his hand wrapping around Keighley’s wrist. Black veins dragged up Derek’s arm to his neck and the pain subsided, not all the way but enough to not being quite so awful.

“Thanks. Oh, hey, I suppose my rules about meddling in love don’t matter much anymore,” she coughed, choking up blood. Stiles wiped the blood from her mouth with the bottom of his shirt. “You should give each other a chance. Because, you know, you’re both great kids, and I would hate to see the potential here go to waste. So, you know, make out and go on dates and maybe be mated someday, or don’t if it doesn’t work out, but try.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles muttered, looking at Derek. Derek looked back, stared back actually. Blatant staring, goo-goo eyes making. Definite love connection going on in that look. That look led to many, many things, love and sex at the top of the list.

“Well, don’t make out _now!_ ” Keighley cried, making them chuckle out of embarrassment.

Keighley made Stiles promise he’d paint a few more times, and that he’d teach Derek how to keep his hands busy because from what Keighley remembered, Derek didn’t really know how to do that, and she made them both promise again to take a chance on one another, and then after nuzzling into Stiles weakly, the life went out of Keighley and she was gone.

-&-

Stiles painted.

Like he promised.

At first, he was bad. He stared at his first works in shame.

But he kept trying.

Like he promised.

He painted a portrait of his mother, relying on photographs for details he’d forgotten over time, and he perfected the upturn of her nose and the curl of her dark brown hair around her ears. His father hung it up proudly beside Claudia’s works in the dining room.

He painted Derek Hale, sneaking sketches in at night like Joon drawing Sam in secret. He perfected the swirls of the triskele adorning Derek’s back, and then mastered the curves and lines of Derek’s body, drawn mostly from memory, from tracing them with his wandering, curious fingers. Those, he kept for himself, tucked in his studio away from the world. Derek was all his, and he wouldn’t have anyone else thinking differently.

He painted Keighley, a girl with long auburn hair knotted from centuries of neglect, dressed in a long silver dress that seemed to shine off the canvas, a sword in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. Two wings of light backed her against the bright blue sky, her dark eyes twinkling as they stared straight forward. An angel, but not.

He named it _My Guardian, My Muse_ and it hangs in an art gallery in town for all to see, and every now and again, a girl of the same likeness will stop in and touch the painting, seeking out no other work in her visit. She never says anything, and she never acknowledges anyone else. Some say she’s not a girl at all, but a spirit. They wouldn’t be wrong. She touches the placard to the painting’s right, the name embossed into the plastic with the artist’s name below that. She smiles, and like she’d never been that at all, she vanishes. 

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea and I didn't know if anyone would actually want to read it. But this is basically just for me. Let me know if you liked it, I guess.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr (packyourbagsrightnow.tumblr.com), if you want to be updated constantly, and repetitively about Teen Wolf, sterek, and when I'm writing something new.
> 
> DFTBA


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